


And then buried in mud

by Fanfreluche



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Young Dutch, Younger Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23398657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfreluche/pseuds/Fanfreluche
Summary: Dutch washes Arthur's hair.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	And then buried in mud

“Arthur! What is… Is _that_ -”

“Now don’t you fret, Miss Grimshaw… Marston! Get your filthy ass into the river before I toss you in myself and give you a good scrubbing!”

“Ain’t dirty! It’ll dry off…”

“Go on now, I said! Git!”

“Mister Morgan!”

Hmmm…

Leaning sideways against the tent pole, a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth, Dutch smiled to himself as he watched the loud exchange going on between the trio consisting of Susan, Arthur and John. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the scene for him, but apparently the infrequency of Susan’s visits - allegedly done to ‘sort them out’ - had made her incapable of getting used to the boys’ antics. Now the beautiful woman was livid, wringing her hands in seemingly several directions at once like a goddess from eastern legends while yelling at the top of her lungs, producing the instant effect of driving off the younger boy towards the stream not far away from where they’d been camping. The older boy, now he was a different story altogether. Any measure of delight Dutch might have felt at the sight of Arthur’s defiant and cocksure behaviour opposite his on-again, off-again mistress disappeared immediately, however, once he witnessed the magnitude of the mess when the young man got closer to his tent. 

It took Dutch a moment to overcome the initial shock, but before he had a chance to open his mouth, Arthur caught sight of him and quickly changed direction, presumably trying to evade another lecture. 

That wouldn’t do.

Quickly he extinguished his cigar and placed the remainder on a closed book above a trunk in his tent. Arthur was about to sit down for a smoke behind a tree when he caught up with him. He looked surprised that Dutch didn’t ask him what had happened and instead told him to follow him to where the washtub was so he could clean his hair for him. Not an ordinary demand that was, but the wonder of not being admonished seemed to have stilled the boy’s wilful nature somewhat, because he did as he was told, much to Dutch’s concealed pleasure. 

He was careful to remove the ‘D’ ring he’d cut off only recently from the finger of a dead enemy and placed it in his waistcoat pocket. Rolled up his sleeves and unbuckled his gun belt, all the while watching Arthur shrugging off his suspenders and freeing his young, strong body out of the top half of the union suit, muscles glistening with sweat under the hot summer sun. The stark difference between relatively clean skin and the rest of what vaguely resembled his outlaw apprentice was almost comical. 

The boy must have noticed his amusement, seeing as how he glowered at him before sitting on an upturned bucket and bending his upper body forward, head hanging over the space between his wide-open knees. 

It was the first time he’d allowed him to do this. Well, it was the first time he’d asked. And the first time he’d seen him so dirty…

Dutch tried to be gentle and thorough when pouring a bucket of cold water over the head of the young man, who shivered a bit nonetheless, the reaction echoing in his own… Nevermind. He took his time, letting his fingers glide unhurriedly between the long sticky locks, caressing more than cleaning, perhaps, for now. He was doing this for his own pleasure too, after all. He shifted to stand in front of Arthur, one hand continuing with the attentive brushing while the other slid to rest on the nape of the boy’s neck, massaging softly, fingertips burning briefly at the contact with the sun-soaked skin, inching their way tentatively to where the ruddy expanse met the pale threshold marking the outline of the absent union suit. 

He could hear a low grumbling noise but chose to ignore it. Impatient, this one. He allowed himself to enjoy the activity a few more moments, until eventually feeling sorry for the lad, he decided he should distract him with conversation.

“So, tell me, what happened?” 

Didn’t have to be a comfortable conversation.

Arthur grunted once more and sighed, muscles of his broad back moving in tandem with the deeper breaths, before responding: “Was fooling around with John… Boy wanted to see what happens if we lit a dynamite in the mud…”

Dutch couldn’t see his face, but from the shifting colour of his ears and the growing warmth of the exposed skin he could tell he was blushing. Good, good. Laughing a low steady laugh, he stepped a little closer without really planning to.

“It didn’t occur to you to hide behind a rock in the course of this jolly experiment of yours?”

“I did!” Came the immediate protest. Naturally. “But that idiot Marston just stood there so I had to run and get him, and it was, well, too late by then…”

“I see…” Dutch couldn’t help but grin. It just wouldn’t go away. Before more defences could be put up, he resumed: “I’d expect this sort of thing from John, but you… How old are you now, Mister Morgan? Twenty-”

Near instantly his hands were violently shrugged off and he had to act quickly to push Arthur back down on his seat with heavy clasps of both hands on wet shoulders. His hands might have stayed there a bit longer than necessary, fingers might have exercised more pressure than necessary. He could sense the young man’s rising anger in the pronounced heat now radiating from the skin and in the way his naked shoulders flexed under his touch.

 _Stay_. 

Sharp sparkle of blue-green behind wet hair dulled. He smiled. 

“We’re not done yet.” Dutch saw fit to warn verbally as well and picked up the bar of soap. “Won’t take long.”

“Heard that before…”

“And wanted more, if I remember correctly.” 

Now he was silent. Typical. 

Dutch asked Arthur to close his eyes and worked the suds into his hair in the same deliberate motions as before. Slowly but surely golden strands began to come free from the layers of mud encasing their length. He looked more relaxed now, he could see it in his posture, the not-so-tense arrangement of the muscles. And when he moved two fingers under his chin to lift up his face, he could see a calm expression there as well. Brow unwrinkled. Eyes closed, draped by long lashes. A tint of shame - or was it anger? - still glowed pink on his cheeks. Mouth neutral. He brushed a stripe of lather away from the corner of Arthur’s pursed lips with his thumb before letting his head fall again, the fingers of his other hand gripping his hair a bit more firmly, perhaps, so there was a slight tug. A soft sigh.

He didn’t know how he managed to sense it, but when he lifted his eyes he saw Susan standing at a distance, watching them. From Arthur’s groan he realised his grip in his hair must have become more rigid. From Susan’s expression and her rapid retreat, he guessed that his displeasure at her intrusion into their privacy must have been visible. She learned quickly, at least.

By the time the third bucket of water was emptied over Arthur’s head, there was no trace of mud or soap left. Dutch stepped back, eyeing his handiwork while wiping his hands dry with a towel which he then tossed at Arthur. 

“Getting troublesome…” The boy grunted, standing up as he vigorously handled his hair. “Reckon I’ll ask Susan to cut it.”

Dutch raised an eyebrow, fastened his gun belt and slid his ring back on.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

And of course the next day the first thing he saw when he entered his tent after returning from an excursion was Susan putting away her scissors.


End file.
